


Starburst upon skin

by VespidaeQueen



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), captain america: civil war - Fandom
Genre: Captain America Civil War Spoilers, F/M, Fluff, Pre-Relationship, Sweaters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-06-07 13:31:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6806905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VespidaeQueen/pseuds/VespidaeQueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Wanda is honest with herself, it isn't the sight of Vision in a sweater that makes her heart turn over in her chest.</p><p>Or, rather, it's not <i>just</i> the sight of him in a sweater.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Starburst upon skin

**Author's Note:**

> I was originally going to write something full of feelings and angst, but then I decided that fluff was _so_ much more appealing.
> 
> Set pre-Civil War, but with allusions to several scenes in the movie. So no outright plot spoilers, but definitely references.

It has been the sort of long, trying day that only quiet and calm can aid, and Wanda shutters herself in her room as soon as she is able. She shuts the door and pulls on a comfortable shirt with sleeves just long enough to cover her fingers, leaving her shoes and coat in a little pile on the ground.

She tries to center herself with several deep breaths, with the repetitive, simple action of flicking through her phone, with the simple action of sprawling back upon her pillows and sheets and giving herself a moment to simply _be_. And it works, tension easing from her shoulder, the beginnings of a headache ebbing away before ever being fully realized.

“Wanda? Do you have a moment?”

Had she been expecting him, she might have reacted calmly. But no door had opened, no footsteps sounded, and Vision is leaning partway through the solid wall.

That her reaction is simply to jolt upright, to shriek shortly, to drop her phone onto the ground - no crack and curl of energy at her fingertips, no objects moving when they shouldn’t - is good. She has, after all, some measure of self control, and Vision being _terribly startling_ is apparently not enough to break it.

“ _Vizh!_ ” It comes out as a breathless little laugh, startled forth from her lips. “What are you - there’s a _door_ right there!”

Vision’s head tilts and his brow furrows into a quizzical expression. “This was the most efficient pathway. I - have done something incorrect.”

Wanda sets her teeth upon her upper lip as she tries to hide a smile. Her heart is no longer flipping around her chest in fright, though the rush of startled adrenaline has not yet left her limbs.

“It’s best to knock when someone’s door is closed,” she tells him, and watches the change of expression upon his face. The raise of his brows, the way his eyes widen, the click of his chin as his head tilts that is just a shade too sharp and sudden to be human.

He has not moved since she first spoke, still half within the wall, his edges all turned to translucence.

“I will knock, then,” he says, and begins to slide away, back through the wall.

“ _Wait_. Vizh - “ She sits up fully, resettles herself upon her bed. Leans forward as he looks back at her. “There’s no need to knock _now_ ; I already know you’re here. You can come in.”

He hesitates only a fraction of a second, then slides through the wall as though it is nothing. Or perhaps the opposite. Things do not give way when he moves through them, nothing is upset from it’s place, nothing distorts or changes save for the edges of him, save for the way he turns to little more than an afterimage for the time it takes him to traverse the distance.

And then he is opaque and tangible and standing very solid and real within her room.

“I do apologize,” he tells her. “I had not thought -” But he stops at Wanda’s gasp, at how her eyes go very wide and her fingers fly to her mouth. She looks at him in something of a breathless, adrenaline-filled, utterly surprised _shock_.

It takes possibly three seconds before Vision reacts to _her_ reaction, but it feels like quite a bit longer. He looks quizzical again, a furrow in his brow and a pinching of his lips, which melts away as determines the causation of her gasp.

“Pepper suggested that I might consider additions to my attire,” he says.

Wanda gives a small laugh, a traitorous little sound that escapes with her breath. There is a flush of embarrassment that rises to her cheeks, all mixed with surprise and laughter and _delight_.

“It’s -” She’s not sure what to say, but her eyes trace the clean lines of his slacks and the slim fit of the charcoal sweater, the white collar perfectly folded and creased. It is a remarkably good look for him, one that is unexpected and sets something in her chest fluttering, and yet -

“Yes?” He is waiting for something, she can see that. A softness in his eyes, a moment of openness, the need for feedback to a decision, an accumulation of data for him to determine a course.

“You left your cape on,” she finally say, fingers still shielding her mouth, trying to hide her smile.

Vision tips his head the opposite way, the geometry of his face once more that of confusion. “I was under the impression that a sweater was typically worn over other garments,” he says, and _oh_ , it’s impossible to keep her smile hidden - the expression is in her cheeks and her eyes, and she cannot bite it back.

“That’s a rule that _probably_ doesn’t apply to capes,” she tells him, and she can see when it clicks for him, when he registers the source of her amusement.

“Ah. Another useful piece of information. Thank you, Wanda,” he says. He - thankfully - does not appear offended.

And then he sweeps one hand beneath the collar of his shirt, back over his shoulder blade, disconnecting that side of his cape. Repeats the motion with his other arm and Wanda -

It’s not as though he’s _disrobing_ , exactly, it’s just -

It is, after all, a _cape_ , not a robe -

It’s not as though there’s anything special about the column of his neck or how his sweater stretches across his chest, or his long fingers as he tugs his cape free -

And she’s _not_ staring -

His cape nearly slides to the ground, but he catches it and it’s liquid gold beneath his fingers.

“Do you find this an improvement?” he asks her. And _okay,_ she’s staring at him.

“Your collar,” she says, and she doesn’t think, doesn’t stop to let herself second-guess - she pushes herself up from her bed and she closes the distance between them with two steps. She smoothes the now-wrinkled collar back into something like its former, pristine shape. Her fingers splay out over his shoulders for a moment as she sweeps out the last of the wrinkles, and then she tips her head up and meets his eyes.

There is a softness to his expression, his eyes wide like hers were before. His lips are parted, like there is a question stilled between them.

She feels the adrenaline in her fingertips, little sparks in her bloodstream.

“It was wrinkled,” she says, but an eternity has passed in those few seconds. Gravity takes hold of her once more as Vision looks at her, tugs on her heart and sends it careening about in an effort to right itself.

“I’ve fixed it for you,” she says, and brushes her hands across the shoulders of his sweater once more, brusquely, as though it will halt the starbursts that bloom along her cheekbones.

“Thank you, Wanda,” he says, and he does sound grateful even as something in his words seems to halt and trip. “I am certain it looks much better, now.”

“It does,” she says, and then she steps back. Smiles. _Breathes_. Tries to ignore that her insides have gone to knots and her heart seems to be trying to escape from her chest into her veins. She slips the long sleeves of her shirt over her fingers and crosses her arms over her chest. “Now, there was something you wanted to speak to me about?”

“I had thought that we might engage in a discussion of strategy,” he says, and she frowns.

“I didn’t realize Steve had called a meeting,” she says, and she turns and reaches for her phone where it’s fallen, thinking that perhaps there is a missed message.

“You misunderstand,” Vision says as she straightens. He has shifted his stance, hands caught in the small of his back. “I had wondered if you would like to play a game of chess with me.”

“I’m not very good at chess,” she tells him, but she feels light, all stars and sunbursts and the feeling of laughter caught within her chest.

He inclines his head, a acknowledgement. “I could teach you, if you would like.”

“I’d like that, Vision,” she says, and the corners of his mouth pull back. Just the slightest, just a little, but Wanda finds that his smile is something wonderful.


End file.
